Fear of the Dark
by Irene T447
Summary: "Papa, I'm scared of the dark." Impa has always been afraid of the dark. Spans pre and post Skyward Sword. Spoilers for Skyward Sword. An exploration of the origins of the Sheikah, Impa's motivations, and her earliest influences. Should be about six chapters long.


**ACT I**

"Papa, I'm scared of the dark."

My daughter's voice reaches my ears, carries across the blistering winds, permeates the darkness of the cloud barrier above our heads, and sings her song of lonesome fear into my heart. I set my longsword aside; I can finish cleaning the hellish blood of moblins from it later. Later, that is, after we have our little chat.

I turn to face her, standing there sucking her lip in the doorway, and beckon her to sit beside me on our wooden porch. A single lantern illuminates the night space above our heads, swarming with insects. She comes close and drops down beside me, tugging at her small, yellow braids. I place a hand on her petite shoulder so that she looks up at me.

"Impa," I tell her, "The Goddess Hylia watches you."

She nods and curls into my arm. I pull her close and let her set her head against my chest.

"Do you remember the day when light filled the heavens?" I ask.

She shakes her head 'no' into my shoulder, and I nod deeply in confirmation of my suspicions, "Well, I suppose you were barely more than an infant. Still, I had hoped you would remember. After all, it was the day Hylia led us into battle against the great evil infecting our land. It will be forever known and passed down in history as a legend, of that I am certain."

I release her from my embrace to look her in the eyes. Her eyes, unlike my own, have been dyed a rich copper color reminding me all too much of the color of blood. In her eyes I see my fallen comrades, relatives, friends, and my love. Yet, at the same time I see hope. Yes, mostly I see the hope that the Goddess has bestowed upon us by way of her sacred blessing.

"That day," I continue without breaking eye contact, "the heavens filled with golden light which spread across the land before disappearing behind the cloud barrier. The memory of it I shall carry with me until the day I die. Since then, we have not seen the sun, only the implication of it through the perpetual grays of the sky above."

I shoo away a mosquito from my daughter's face, rub her back affectionately. She removes my arm from her back and traces the long, irregular scars along my hands and forearm with innocent curiosity. I let the howling of a night creature occupy the silence before I continue.

"However," I say as she quirks her head to the side, her eyes sparkling, "That was not the last I would see of this ethereal light. When I returned from the battlefields the skies had already turned gray. But, when your mother held you out to me, the first time I had ever laid eyes on you, in _your_ eyes shone that very same golden light."

Impa's eyes widen, her arching, ghostly eyebrows reaching for her hairline. I let loose a deep chuckle; this was the first I had ever told her of this story, and her reaction is just as I had foreseen. She bounces up and down excitedly, braids flying haphazardly.

"Tell me more, Papa! Tell me more!" She demands, loudly.

"Shhh…" I say, pressing a finger to my lips and delivering down to her a pointed look. She stills and quiets her tongue immediately, "Good girl," I say.

"We are the Sheik*," I explain, "A tribe of fighters sworn as agents against darkness and evil. It was our duty to fight alongside the Goddess while she sent the rest of mankind to the skies. It remains our duty to be ready for the Goddess's second coming. We are proud of our heritage and humble in the face of our being chosen to act as the Goddess's hands and feet, her eyes and her ears," I continue, and I know there is a sentimental expression on my face for it is reflected in my daughter's mysterious eyes, "The war lasted for such a long time, you cannot even imagine, Impa. So, upon returning to your mother and seeing you for the first time, so too was it the first time my soul felt rest. After years of war dragged out the most unpleasant in me, I saw you, and the golden light in your eyes guided me home."

"But Papa," Impa protests, "My eyes aren't golden like you say! I've seen the mirror you use to shave the hair from your face, and my eyes are the red of your old clothes."

She speaks of my combat uniform, a rich crimson; the color chosen to represent the majesty of the Goddess Hylia. I have long since cast off the uniform, but it remains hanging on the wall to serve as a reminder of the horrors I faced and the hope which guided me through it. I tilt my head and a laugh bubbles up through my gut and out into the open air. How smart my girl is, I think with warm pride.

"Your eyes," I tell her, "are like the reds of a sunset. Always, there is the light of the sun found beneath," I rest a hand on her forehead, "Do you understand?"

She nods beneath my fingers with a delightful smile. If we did not live in isolation, many people would tell me that she did not, in fact, understand, nor could she due to her age. But, I do believe that on some level she does understand what I mean. It's more of an instinctual gut level feeling only parents can describe when they know that their children are listening to their words.

"Now that you know this, you should not be afraid of the dark anymore," I say, "After all, you are a light of the Goddess. If anything," I laugh, "That darkness should fear you."

I rise and lift her onto my back, and she wraps her legs around my torso, and her arms around my neck. I bring her back to her room, set her down in her bed and tuck the sheets in with a kiss to her forehead.

"Are you still afraid of the dark?" I ask.

My daughter shrugs her shoulders.

"I'll be right outside, you know that."

She nods.

"If you need me, just call. Goodnight, Impa."

"G'night, Papa."

When I sit down on the porch step I resume cleaning my blade. I didn't tell her about the pockets of darkness which still seep into the land we call The Surface. I didn't tell her that there are night creatures encircling our dwelling which will not hesitate slaughter her if given the chance. I've never told her about my 'hunting trips' during which I not only fetch us our meal, but also slay a horde of moblins in the act of proliferating after securing a magical border around the house and lock her in for the few hours it takes. I've never told her the story about why she doesn't have a mother – that my wife was taken by illness onset by a monster's poisoned blade. I hope to never have to tell her about the horrors I faced in the war. I hope to never see her fight a day in her life. I pray only for her happiness.

I feel rather inept at telling stories to ease my daughter's worries. Perhaps I tell them to ease my own soul rather than hers. Or, perhaps, I do it for the benefit of us both.

Because I too am afraid of the dark.

* * *

*In this story, the Sheikah were the Sheik before Impa goes forwards in time to save Zelda.

Any thoughts? If you would be so kind, drop a review.


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